


When covered, fire acquires still more force

by RubyCaspar



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Abduction, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, MFMM Whumptober, Torture, Whump, beatings, pay attention to the rating folks, this ain't rated for smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-08-13 21:03:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyCaspar/pseuds/RubyCaspar
Summary: The key to responding to a kidnapping is to move quickly: trails begin to go cold within hours.Jack was taken four days ago.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a response to the whump prompt 'abduction', which I chose literally as an excuse to write it. I've had the idea for the main premise of this story for at least five years - it's followed me from fandom to fandom, never getting written until now. Of course, as luck would have it, Whopooh prompted FireSign with basically the exact same premise, and so if you think you're seeing double reading this after reading her story 'Defenceless', you're not wrong. 
> 
> I'm posting this in three parts because I wanted to get it published before the end of the month, and I just haven't had time to sit down and write the whole thing yet. However it's all planned out and I'll will finish it/at least upload the second part tomorrow. I don't blame you for not believing me. 
> 
> The title is courtesy of Ovid's 'Metamorphoses'. 
> 
> Final thing to say is take heed of the warnings for violence. I'm from the old school of whump, which means hurt/comfort... but before the comfort I am bringing the hurt. If that's not your thing, please spare yourself! This first chapter is scene-setting only, more of a prologue really.

**Day Four**

 

Phryne eased her Hispano into an obliging space just outside City South Police Station, and smiled to herself as she checked her reflection in the mirror: not a hair out of place. She adjusted the asymmetrical collar of her new silk blouse, grabbed her handbag from the passenger seat, and stepped out of the car.

 

The lobby of the station seemed very dark after the blinding sunlight outside, but Phryne had no trouble making out the shape of Constable Collins - _Senior_ Constable Collins, that is - behind the desk as usual.

 

“Morning Hugh!” She called out cheerfully, breezing her way past the counter on her way to the Inspector’s office. Hugh barely had time to look up before she reaching for the handle of the closed office door.

 

“Oh - Miss - he’s -”

 

“Knock knock, Jack -”

 

Phryne paused in the doorway to Jack’s office. Jack’s empty office.

 

“Not here,” Hugh finished lamely behind her.

 

Phryne sighed - she did hate to waste a good entrance. Her eyes swept the office, noting that it looked tidier than she’d ever seen it, and very clean as well - she knew that the station cleaning crews came through twice a week, and by her calculations two days earlier, which meant that Jack can’t have been in his office for several days.

 

Phryne closed the office door and turned to face Hugh, who was looking sheepish.

 

“And where might the Inspector be this fine morning?” Phryne asked him.

 

“He’s off sick,” Hugh told her.

 

Phryne’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

 

“Yes - he called in yesterday morning, and again today.”

 

Phryne blinked, a little thrown by this revelation. Somehow she couldn’t imagine Jack taking two sick days in a row, even when faced with the irrefutable evidence before her.

 

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

 

“Er, not exactly, but he did sound pretty rough, miss.”

 

Phryne felt a sudden stab of concern - she imagined that Jack had to be very ill, to be off work like this. And it wasn’t as though he had anyone to take care of him… apart from her.

 

“Well, I’d best go and check on him,” Phryne said, making her way back to the station doors.

 

“Oh! Um, I’m not sure that-” Hugh blustered, but Phryne cut him off with a wave of her hand.

 

“Not to worry, I’m happy to do it!” She said, pretending to misunderstand him. She paused at the door and gave Hugh a teasing smile. “I’ll be sure to return your fearless leader to you as good as new.”

 

Phryne had never been to Jack’s house, but she knew the address by heart and _may_ have worked out the most efficient route there from the station and her own home, so it wasn’t long before she was pulling up in front of his tidy bungalow. Even if his car were not parked in the driveway, she would have been able to pick it out as Jack’s from the little touches: the well-kept lawn, the riotous flowerbeds, the racing bike chained up under an awning at the side of the house. The whole thing was very ‘Jack’, and as with most things concerning the Inspector she approved immensely.

 

Phryne stepped out her car, and as she did so got a proper look at the bungalow - the curtains were closed, and there were no signs of any lights on inside; unsurprising, if Jack was sick. She sighed. She had gone to the station that morning because she hadn’t seen Jack in nearly a week - which, these days, was a long stretch. Even when they weren’t investigating together, Jack was a regular visitor to Wardlow, and Phryne found herself turning down invitations sometimes just because she had a feeling Jack might be coming by (and never regretted it). She hadn’t liked not seeing him these last few days, and only wished that Jack had felt he could call her at times like this.

 

She made a very good nurse.

 

Phryne knocked briskly on the front door. No answer. She knocked again, and listened closely for any sounds of movement. Nothing.

 

“Jack?” She called out. Still nothing.

 

Phryne pursed her lips. Well, he was asking for it really.

 

Phryne had the door open in a matter of minutes. She stowed her lockpicks back in her bag,  

smoothed down her hair and, pondering idly whether Jack slept with a shirt on or not, stepped into the bungalow.

 

The front door opened into a small, short hallway, which led directly into the parlour with no connecting doors. There were no lights on, and the room felt cold and stale. There were several letters lying on the doormat. Phryne felt anxiety twist like a knot in her stomach, and needed to remind herself that Jack had spoken to Hugh on the telephone just hours before.

 

Still, she didn’t step further into the house just yet. “Jack?” She called out. “Jack - it’s Phryne. Where are you?”

 

Silence.

 

Phryne took a deep breath and walked into the parlour. It was small and cosy, lined with bookshelves, but Phryne paid it little attention. She made her way through the room and down another short hallway, and found Jack’s bedroom.

 

It was empty. His bed was made. His slippers sat next to the bed, and his dressing gown hung on a peg by the door. The room was cold.

 

The anxiety in Phryne’s stomach twisted some more, and she told herself not to jump to conclusions. Jack had clearly not been in this room for at least a day or two - that didn’t mean anything was wrong. Perhaps she was wrong about him having no one to take care of him; perhaps he’d gone to stay with his mother or someone when he started to feel sick. Phryne knew very little about his family - it could easily be the case. Perhaps he wasn’t sick at all, but was playing hooky with someone…

 

That thought didn’t make Phryne feel much better.

 

She poked her head in the bathroom. Cold and empty. Back into the parlour. The only room left was the kitchen, though surely he would have heard her if he were in there, even if he’d fallen asleep at the table. Bracing herself for she didn’t know what, Phryne pushed open the door.

 

Phryne gasped and jumped back.

 

The kitchen was - well, it was carnage. The tiled floor was littered with shards of broken plates, glass, and… flowers? There were spots of blood on the floor.

 

Phryne’s heart was racing, and the anxiety in her stomach transformed into full-blown panic. “Jack?!” She croaked out, stumbling into the kitchen and looking around wildly, half-expecting to find Jack crumpled in a bloody heap on the floor. As she stepped further into the kitchen she saw a kitchen knife, smeared with blood, lying on the floor by the back door. Phryne gasped again and reached out to steady herself on one of the kitchen chairs - it was softer than expected, and when she looked she found one of Jack’s suit jackets hanging on the back of it. Phryne looked around wildly, and noticed that a pane of glass in the kitchen door was broken. She hurried to the door, trying her best to be careful of the debris on the floor, and flung the door open - it was on the catch, but not locked.

 

There was dry blood on the ground outside, and more drops leading to a door in Jack’s garden fence. Phryne hurried towards it and flung the door open, following the blood trail through a narrow alleyway between two garden fences to a dirt road at the back of the gardens. The blood disappeared, and there was nothing else except some faint tyre tracks in the dirt.

 

Phryne leant against the fence, breathing heavily, and trying to fight down the panic that felt like it was clawing at her throat.

 

“Oh my god.”

 

***

 

Hugh was beside himself.

 

“He sounded off - he did, I just thought he was ill, I didn’t realise that - he was, oh my god, it probably wasn’t even him!”

 

“Hugh, breathe,” Dot said, holding tightly onto his hand. “It’s alright, we’ll-”

 

“ _Alright_ ?” Hugh exclaimed. “It’s - the Inspector’s been… _taken_ ! I should have come to check on him as soon as he called in - he _never_ calls in sick, I should have known. I couldn’t even tell that I wasn’t even talking to my own boss, what kind of…”

 

Phryne had stumbled back into Jack’s house and called Hugh, then Dot, who had both arrived within twenty minutes, Hugh with what seemed like most of the City South constables with him, all of whom were poring over Jack’s house in what seemed like a frustratingly gormless manner to Phryne. Cec and Bert, who had brought Dot, were studying the tyre tracks on the dirt road outside. More police were coming - Russell Street was taking the probable abduction of one of their senior officers very seriously, and some of the top brass were on their way.

 

Phryne had been standing with her back pressed against the kitchen door, staring at the scene since she’d made her telephone calls. Jack had clearly put up a fight. The broken dishes seemed to have fallen from the countertop, and the kitchen knife was part of set - it had probably been Jack that had wielded it, given his assailants must have had weapons of their own… the question was whether Jack had got in a hit, or whether the blood on the knife was his own. The flowers on the floor were from a vase, the remains of which were also on the floor. Whatever water there might have been had long since dried up.

 

Phryne looked round at Hugh, who was still stammering in a panic. “Hugh,” she said firmly. He closed his mouth and looked at her fearfully, as though she were about to fly into a rage at him. Part of her wanted to, just to have something to do. She wasn’t going to though. It wasn’t his fault.

 

“Was that the jacket the Inspector was wearing the last time you saw him?”

 

Hugh blinked, surprised at the mundane question, and then focused on the jacket. “I - I think so?” He said. “It was four days ago-”

 

Dot asked the question before Phryne could. “I thought he only called in sick yesterday?”

 

“He did, but he had two days off before then,” Hugh explained. “He’d worked the last couple of weekends and so he had Monday and Tuesday off…” His eyes widened as the implications of his words hit him full force. He went pale. “Oh god…”

 

“So in all likelihood, he was taken on Sunday evening,” Phryne said tersely. “Four days ago.”  

 

Phryne hadn’t really worked any kidnapping cases before, but she knew that trails started to go cold within hours. How cold would the trail be after four days? There’d been no ransom demands, no one had known he was gone - it seemed unlikely that Jack was even still… no, she couldn’t even think it.

 

Phryne turned her face away from Hugh and Dot. It suddenly hurt to breathe.

 

There was the sound of cars arriving outside, footsteps and voices, and a moment later an older Inspector that Phryne recognised from Russell Street stepped into the house, followed by a sergeant, a senior constable, and finally the Deputy Commissioner. Hugh stood to attention, looking quite green with anxiety, and Dot gently let go of his hand, stepping back as he faced his superiors.

 

“Well,” the Inspector said grimly. “What’s the situation?”

 

Hugh swallowed, and glanced at Phryne. “It’s, um - it appears that Inspector Robinson has been… abducted.”

 

“Yes, we gathered that much from the phone call,” said the Inspector.

 

Hugh gulped.

 

“It seems he was taken on Sunday evening, after returning home from the station,” Phryne said.

 

Everyone turned to look at her. The Inspector tilted his head to the side in a way that was painfully reminiscent of Jack. “What makes you say that, Miss Fisher?” He asked. Phryne didn’t ask how he knew her name.

 

“His suit jacket is on the back of the chair in the kitchen, as though he’d just taken it off after getting home,” she said. “He was off work on Monday and Tuesday, I doubt he wore a suit to do the gardening or go cycling. The flowers smashed on the ground but the water has had enough time to dry up, and the house was freezing cold when I entered it, so there’s been enough time for a draught to get in through that broken window-pane.”

 

The Deputy Commissioner cleared his throat. “You discovered the scene, miss?”

 

Phryne nodded. “Yes, less than an hour ago.”

 

“How did you get in?”

 

Phryne pursed her lips. “I picked the lock on the front door,” she said simply. Every policeman in the room stared at her, and she folded her arms. “Jack wasn’t answering the door, and I was worried. If he’d like to press breaking and entering charges when he’s found, I will be happy to face them.”

 

The Deputy Commissioner quirked an eyebrow at her, but didn’t say anything else - just moved forward so he could see the kitchen for himself. The Inspector was a step behind, and Phryne stepped back to let them past her, but neither tried to actually enter the room.

 

“It’s the same,” the Deputy Commissioner said shortly.

 

The Inspector nodded with a sigh. “Yes sir,” he said. “If he was taken on Sunday, tomorrow will be day five.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

Phryne narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on?” She said, far more calmly than she felt. “The same as what?”

 

The two men exchanged a glance, before the Deputy Commissioner gave a brief nod. The Inspector stepped back and gestured to the armchairs in the parlour. “Perhaps we’d better sit down?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Predictably, I wasn't able to update this the next day. It's now four days later... which to be honest is not actually that bad for me, let's face it. Anyway, HEED THE WARNINGS people, this chapter takes a dark turn.

As it turned out, Jack’s was not the first high-profile kidnapping that had occurred in Melbourne in the past fortnight. Russell Street was working the cases, and the Commissioner had made sure to keep the news out of the press. The other three all had connections to the ruling echelons of Melbourne, and had been taken in smash-and-grab jobs just like Jack’s, in places when it would take at least a day for anyone to notice they were missing. The kidnappers always sent a note on the fifth day - not for a ransom, yet, but confirming they had the missing person. There were no firm leads. 

The Inspector - Hoynes, was his name - told Phryne all of this in the cold parlour of Jack’s house, his face and tone serious. 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Phryne said when he was done. “Why Jack? He’s not someone’s family, like the other… victims. Why take him?” 

“We can only hope that that will become clear tomorrow, when they send a note.” 

Phryne frowned. The last thing she wanted to do was sit around and do nothing. 

The Deputy Commissioner stood up. “I’m going back,” he said to Hoynes shortly. “I’ll want a full report this evening.” 

The Inspector stood up as well. “Yes sir.” He watched his superior leave, and turned back to Phryne, cutting her off as she started to speak again. 

“I know Jack well, Miss Fisher, he served under me when he first joined the force,” he said. “And I have told him on several recent occasions that he was damaging his career, continuing to work with you.” 

Phryne glowered. 

“However, your results speak for themselves, and I know that you’re not going to let this go,” he continued before she could say anything. “So if you’d like to accompany me to Russell Street, we can go over the details of the case officially.” 

Phryne didn’t much like his condescending tone, but knew that it was better to be on the inside than the outside, and was willing to put up with a little condescension if it meant finding Jack faster. She stood up, and nodded for Dot to follow her. 

“Lead the way Inspector.” 

Phryne spent the rest of the day at Russell Street, poring over the reports of the other three kidnappings, racking her brain for a connection beyond the victims beyond being from the same quarter of society and probably seeing each other at parties now and then. The youngest was only eighteen, away from home for university, the oldest forty-seven. She couldn’t puzzle it out, and could only hope that the kidnapper’s letter would help to shed some light on it. 

Friday, however, came and went, and no letter came with it. Inspector Hoynes didn’t say anything, but Phryne could see the man did not take it as a good sign for Jack’s well-being, and buried himself back in his files, trying to find a clue that Phryne already knew wasn’t there. 

Phryne could feel a sense of despair threatening to open up with in her, ready to swallow her whole, but she ruthlessly pushed it down, absolutely refusing to accept that Jack was beyond saving. She wasn’t a child anymore. This would not happen to her again. It couldn’t. 

It was time for Phryne Fisher to take the lead in this investigation. 

***

**Day Seven**

 

Phryne let herself in through the front door of Wardlow, and hurriedly shed her coat. It was a little later than she’d intended, and she didn’t have long to get ready.

 

“Dot? Mr B?” She called out from the foot of the stairs. Silence. She nodded to herself, and hurried up the stairs to her room - she thought they would still be out.

 

In her boudoir, Phryne swapped her day dress for black woollen trousers, a plain blouse and her thickest black jumper - she had a feeling that the night would get rather cold, and she would be grateful for the extra layer. She tucked her black beret into the waistband of her trousers, and strapped her golden pistol to her calf, where its shape was hidden by the cut of her trousers. She finished the outfit with warm socks and black ankle boots.

 

Phryne went down to the kitchen, and found that Mr B had left her a plate of sandwiches under a napkin. She didn’t feel hungry, having just had a late lunch, but she sat at the table and ate as much of the sandwiches as she could. It was going to be a long night.

 

She had almost finished when there was a loud crash behind her, as her door was forced open. She jumped to her feet as three men burst into the room, screamed as they grabbed her round the middle, tied a gag around her mouth, shoved a bag over her head and bundled her out of the kitchen door.

 

***

 

“Where do we put ‘er? We don’t have another room.”

 

“There’s the little one on the end, shove ‘er in there for now.”

 

It was a shove, in the end, strong enough to send Phryne sprawling forward, her knees impacting hard against the stone floor, her bound hands doing little to break her fall. She cried out in pain, and heard the two men laugh behind her, followed by the sound of of a door closing and being locked.

 

Phryne took a moment to breathe, before rolling onto her back and sitting up. She snatched the bag off her head, and found that it didn’t make much difference to what she could see. She wriggled the gag out of her mouth, and looked around. She was in a very small room, barely more than the size of a cupboard, and the only light there was came from the edges around the door. She had been dragged down some stairs so assumed that she was in a basement somewhere. She stretched her legs carefully, feeling the bruises already forming on her knees, and let her eyes adjust. There was not a single thing in the room aside from Phryne, and aside from cracks there was nothing on the walls or on the floor either, nothing to indicate where she was.

 

She thought about using the dagger hidden in her boot to cut her hands free, but decided not to risk it just yet. They’d been kind enough to tie her hands in front of her so she could use them fairly well, and she was playing the damsel in distress at the moment to buy herself some time, so it would be a bit odd if they came in to find she’d got out of her bonds.

 

After a few minutes, she got her feet under her and stood up, hissing with pain as she put her weight onto her knees for a moment. Yes, she was going to have some bruises.

 

She heard something shift behind her, and spun around, but there was nothing there. Still, she heard the sound again, as if something - or someone - was in the shadows. She swallowed, her fingers itching for her pistol.

 

“Hello?” She said softly.

 

There was a definite intake of breath. “Phryne?”

 

Phryne’s eyes widened. The voice was unmistakable. “Jack?” She gasped, peering into the shadows and still seeing nothing. She heard him cough, and finally grasped where the sound was coming from - a large crack in the wall. “Jack!” She crouched back down, wincing in pain but desperate to get close, to see him. It felt like a great knot was unspooling in Phryne’s chest, like a weight that had been crushing her was being lifted - Jack was alive. He was here, she had found him.

 

Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she impatiently wiped them away. Now wasn’t the time to cry.

The crack was large, but only went all the way through the wall in one place, one very small opening, too small to even fit a hand in. It was dark in Jack’s room as well, but Phryne saw a flash of skin, of a curl on a forehead, and her eyes filled with tears again.

 

“Phryne - no - how?” Jack asked, his voice rough and anguished.

 

“Oh Jack - are you alright?” Phryne asked urgently. She pressed her forehead against the cold wall. “Thank god. I thought this would be a lot more difficult.”

“More difficult - what -” Jack’s voice was suddenly back to normal. “Phryne please tell me you did not get yourself captured on purpose.”

 

Phryne huffed. “Of course I did,” she said. “As if they’d have been able to get near me once we were all on alert.”

“Phryne -” Jack practically growled.

“It’s been a week, Jack, and we had no way of knowing where you were - or if you were even still alive!”

 

“Exactly, you had no idea what you were walking into -”

“I knew exactly what I was -”

“You have no _idea_ what these men are capable of! You -” Jack suddenly hissed in pain, his voice catching with a groan.

 

Phryne pressed her eye to the crack, but she couldn’t see Jack at all. “Jack?” She exclaimed. She heard him take a deep breath, and bit her lip. “ _Are_ you alright?” She repeated.

 

“I’m fine,” Jack said after a moment. He sighed. “Please tell me that you have a plan.”

“Of course I have a plan,” Phryne said. “Cec and Bert were watching - they have Hugh with them, and the three of them will have followed us here to get the location.” Hugh had been adamant about being in the cab with the boys, and three sets of eyes were no doubt better than two.

 

“There’s going to be a raid first thing in the morning, Hugh will mobilise all of Russell Street. We’re going to get all of you out of here.”

 

“All?”

Phryne sat down properly on the floor, shivering slightly at the feel of the slightly damp floor. She was glad she’d worn her thick jumper. “There were three others taken before you. The Mayor’s son, a judge’s niece, and the younger sister of a prominent member of the city council. Russell Street are working the case, they kept it out of the press.”

“They must be planning something,” Jack said. “The Bremners. They’ve taken those people because they need influence.”

 

Phryne grinned, loving the fact that Jack was able to work out the gang’s intentions so quickly - she’d had to spell it out for Hoynes. “They are.”

 

“How did you get them to take you?”

 

“Aunt Prudence decided to use her influence over her friends on the council to block a scheme that our friends very much want to go ahead,” Phryne explained. “Since I’m her closest remaining family, they came for me.”

 

“So not only have you let yourself be captured, you’ve dragged your Aunt into it,” said Jack.

 

Phryne felt like he’d slapped her. “You really think I would put Aunt Prudence in danger?”

Jack sighed again. “No - I’m sorry, I know you wouldn’t,” he said.

 

“I wouldn’t,” Phryne confirmed. “I also wouldn’t be able to convince her to do anything she didn’t want to do.”

 

“I know,” Jack said, sounding truly contrite. “I’m sorry.”

Phryne continued her story, slightly mollified. “As it is, when myself and Inspector Hoynes told her that you and the others were in danger, she was more than happy to help,” she said. “And she is perfectly safe.”

 

There was a pause while Jack digest this. “You’re working with Hoynes?”

 

Phryne smirked. Of course that’s what he would focus on. “Yes,” she said. “Lovely man, if a little slow sometimes.”

 

“What a hypocrite,” Jack said with an edge of humour in his voice. Phryne imagined the little smirk that must be playing about his lips, and sighed.

 

“I wish I could see you properly.”

 

“I doubt I’m much to look at just now,” said Jack drily.

Phryne just smiled again. “How did they get you?” She asked softly.

“I’d just got home,” Jack said, confirming Phryne’s assessment. “Went into the kitchen to make some tea and they burst in. I managed to get my hand on a knife and got one of them in the arm, but there were four of them, and one of them knocked me out. Next thing I knew I was here.”

 

Phryne nodded to herself. “So it wasn’t your blood,” she said. “Thank god.”

“What?”

“I was the one who discovered you were missing. They called in sick for you two days in a row, put on a rough voice, Hugh didn’t realise it wasn’t you,” Phryne explained.

 

“He didn’t?”

 

“No, and don’t you dare say anything about to him, the poor man has been beside himself,” Phryne said sternly. “Anyway, I went round to check on you -”

 

“And indulged in a little breaking and entering I assume?”

 

“A very little. Anyway I called it in when I saw the state of the kitchen. And I found the knife on the floor, and there was blood on it and the ground outside - I guessed you’d wielded the knife but I had no idea whose blood it was.”

 

“I’m sorry to have alarmed you, Miss Fisher,” said Jack.

Phryne shook her head, even though he couldn’t see it. “That is far too mild a word for my feelings the last week, I assure you,” she said.

 

There a was a long pause. “Thank you,” Jack said softly. “For coming here for me.”

“Of course.”

 

***

 

They talked for the next couple of hours, mostly Phryne explaining to Jack the details of the case, how she had worked out that the lack of ransom demands meant that the kidnappers wanted something other than money, how she had managed to get close to one of the victim’s prominent family members under the guise of a luncheon and got them to confide in her that they’d heard from the kidnappers with demands but had warned them not to tell the police, and how from that Phryne been able to set her Aunt - and therefore herself - as a target for the kidnappers’ schemes, in order to find Jack and the others.

 

Jack in turn told Phryne about the kidnappers themselves - apparently they belonged to an Irish mob family called the Bremners, who had had dealing in Melbourne some years ago but who had been run out of the city, in large part thanks to Jack’s investigations and several arrests. Where the other three had been taken so that the kidnappers could wield influence over the city, Jack had been taken for revenge.

 

It’s what Phryne had assumed, and feared, and her breath caught in her throat when she thought of how different things would be had they not decided to keep him alive to toy with him. She couldn’t bear it.

 

Jack told her that the kidnappers generally came to his room with food and water twice a day - early morning and late in the evening. He’d been able to keep track of the days thanks to these visits and his watch, and if he was right then the kidnappers would be down to bring them food any minute. Phryne knew that it was imperative they not find out that she knew Jack - she could only hope that they had been out of town for long enough to have not have heard of her partnership with Jack. She didn’t want them on their guard - and she definitely didn’t want to be moved somewhere away from Jack.

 

Phryne was explaining her aunt’s first meeting with Inspector Hoynes, when she heard a door open somewhere in the distance, and a voice call out to someone, too far away to hear the words. Then there were footsteps, clearly more than one person, on what sounded like steps. They were coming.

 

“Phryne, listen to me,” Jack said seriously, speaking just above a whisper. “It is absolutely crucial that they don’t find out we know each other.”

 

Phryne rolled her eyes. “I know, Jack,” she whispered back. “I’m not about to ruin the whole plan by just -”

 

“I mean it, Phryne,” Jack said urgently. The footsteps were louder, and there was the sound of a door opening, and then closing again. “Whatever you hear - you have to stay quiet. Promise me.” Another door opened and closed.

 

Phryne felt her knot of panic forming in her stomach all over again. “What do you mean whatever I hear?” She asked. “What am I going to hear?”

 

Another door opened, and then closed.

“Promise me, Phryne.”

 

“Jack -”

The lock on Phryne’s door rattled, and a moment later the door swung open, bathing the room in a thin, yellow light. Phryne shrank back against the wall, pushing her shoulders into the crack and hoping the man silhouetted in the doorframe didn’t know about the hole in the wall.

 

He was carrying a bucket and a plate, and he placed both of them on the floor by the door with barely a glance at her. The door was slammed shut again and the door locked - at the same time, Phryne heard the lock on Jack’s door being opened, and then footsteps enter the room.

 

“Evening Inspector,” said a gruff voice with an Irish lilt.

 

“Mikey,” Jack said drily. “How are you?”

 

“Damn sight better than you’re about to be,” the man replied.

 

Phryne swallowed back a gasp.

 

More footsteps - this time there were two distinct gaits.

 

“Ah, I see Harry is joining you this evening,” Jack said, as though he was commenting on the weather. “Good.”

 

“Good?” Said another voice, younger.

 

“Frank has a much harder punch,” Jack said. “Your dad must have not had time to teach you properly before he was put away.”

 

“By you!”

 

“Yes by me,” said Jack calmly.

 

Phryne drew her knees up to her chest, her hands in her hair as she listened, helpless, as Jack goaded the men who were clearly about to beat him. He’d known it was coming, known to warn her to stay quiet. He said they brought food twice a day, did this happen every time? How badly did they hurt him? How badly was he already hurt? What could she do - _what could she do_?

 

Nothing. There was nothing to do except listen and hope it was over soon.

 

“If you want I can get Frankie down here too,” said Mikey.

 

“Whatever you feel is best, Mikey,” said Jack. “This is your precious nephew-bonding time, I wouldn’t want to-”

 

Jack’s voice was cut off by the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the unmistakable sound of a punch. Phryne shut her eyes tight, her fingers tightening painfully in her hair. The sound was quickly followed by another - this time time Jack let out a grunt of pain. The attackers laid in, with what sounded to Phryne like kicks, Jack letting out sharp grunts or groans of pain with each one, each sound twisting like a knife in Phryne’s heart.

 

Then there was another sound - Jack screaming. It wasn’t high-pitched, but there was no other word for it, a continuous, gasping yell of pain that had Phryne scrambling onto her knees with a sob, pressing her eye to the crack to try and see what was happening. Whatever was going on, Jack wasn’t in view - she could just about see the edge of one of the man’s jackets, and nothing else.

 

“How do you like that, Inspector, eh?” Mikey was saying, over the horrible sound of Jack’s pain. “Not so clever now, eh?”

 

Jack gasped, and then answered - it sounded like through gritted teeth. “That’s my arm not my brain.”

 

“Yeah?” There was another kick, and then Jack was silent.

 

Phryne bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, trying desperately to hold in the sobs that were racking her body. Her face was flooded with tears, her eyes swimming, but she stayed pressed up against the wall, craning to see Jack.

 

Suddenly, a man’s eye appeared on the other side of the hole, and Phryne jerked back with a gasp. There was laughter, and the sound of a kick being aimed at the wall.

 

“There now miss,” the man named Mikey said. “Now you know what happens if you don’t behave yourself.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the delay on this - it turned into a bit of a monster! But at least now it’s done. Please note the rating for depictions if torture - this is proper whump guys, and not for the faint-hearted. (But whump means hurt and then comfort, so hang in there!) 
> 
> Forgot to say earlier that I see this as taking place late season 3.

**Day Eight**

 

It was impossible to tell how long Jack was unconscious, but it felt like hours. Phryne sat hunched against the cold brick of her side of their dividing wall, her fingers hooked on the edge of the crack as though it would suddenly become big enough for her to reach through and touch him. When she held her breath and really strained to hear she was able to make out Jack’s quiet breathing, but it was a cold comfort. 

 

Few things in Phryne’s life had caused her the pain that listening to those animals  _ torturing  _ Jack had caused her. She knew that she couldn’t let their captors discover the truth of their relationship: if they knew that Jack cared for her at all, they would have no hesitation in using her to hurt him, or vice versa. But just sitting there listening to it happen was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to do it again, but there was every chance she would have to if their rescue didn’t come before breakfast. 

 

That was assuming that Jack made it until then. Yes she could hear him breathing, but he really had been unconscious for a long time now, and her overactive imagination had no trouble presenting her with all manner of scenarios in which he didn’t wake up. Phryne sat with her arms wrapped around her legs and her forehead pressed into her knees, sternly trying to convince herself that he would be alright, listening intently for the slightest indication that he was waking up. 

 

He had to wake up. She wouldn’t be able to bear it if he didn’t. She couldn’t lose someone else she loved, someone she’d never even told as much. No, he needed to wake up, get out of there with her, and then continue to  _ be there _ , to be  _ Jack _ … it was the only possibly acceptable outcome. 

 

It truly felt like hours before Phryne heard a faint groan, then a cough followed by a louder groan. It probably had been that long, considering how stiff her limbs were as she scrambled out of her curled-up position and onto her bruised knees besides the wall. 

 

“Jack?” 

 

He answered her with another groan, and then a quiet: “good evening, Miss Fisher.” 

 

Phryne felt tears gathering and took a deep breath to hold them back - her crying wasn’t going to help anyone. Still though, she was so  _ relieved _ , even as she listened to the moans and gasps of pain that came from the other side of the wall as Jack moved, presumably to sit up, and a few tears escaped through sheer relief. 

 

When Jack had stopped moving and all she could hear was his - rather rough - breathing, Phryne swallowed. “Are you alright?” 

 

“Yes,” Jack said. 

 

Phryne could hear the pain in his voice, even in that short word. 

 

“Jack-”

 

“Really, I’m fine,” Jack said. “They’re just - they’re not doing anything too serious, they want me to - they’re going to draw it out as long as they can.” 

 

Phryne almost smiled at the idea that Jack’s words were somehow meant to comfort her. She pressed her forehead against the wall, her eyes filling with tears again. She swallowed them back. “Jack - how badly are you hurt?” She said softly. “Tell me the truth. Please.”

She heard Jack sigh, but he didn’t make her ask again. “A couple of bumps to the head,” he said in a flat voice. “My eye is swollen so I assume I have quite the shiner. I think my nose might be broken. Split lip.”

 

Phryne screwed her eyes tight as she listened to the list. Her mind conjured all kinds of images to go with his simple words, knowing full well that he would be downplaying his injuries for her benefit. 

 

“Cracked ribs, not sure how many,” Jack continued. “My left arm is broken.”

 

Phryne’s breath hitched, but she fought back her tears. “Is that what - you were screaming,” she said. She had heard Jack mention his arm during the… during it. 

 

“He was standing on the break,” Jack said. 

 

Phryne lost the battle to hold back her tears. “Oh Jack...” 

“It’s alright.”

 

“It is not alright!” Phryne exclaimed, her voice breaking on the word. “How can you say that?”

“Because it is,” Jack said gently. “It could be worse.” 

 

Phryne was well aware of that fact, but the thought of what could have happened - what might still happen - only made her breath catch once more. 

 

When Jack spoke again, he sounded more pained than he had at any other time. “Please don’t cry.”

 

Phryne shook her head, swiping her hands across her wet cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it’s not helping anyone, I just… you had to - I couldn’t even... I just wish that I with you in there.” 

 

“I don’t,” Jack said immediately. 

 

Phryne chuckled weakly. “Well I’m armed, so you might want to rethink that,” she said. 

 

Jack chuckled as well, and then groaned in pain. Phryne sighed. Her tears seemed to have subsided for the moment, which she was grateful for - it was doing no one any good for her to be sitting there crying. It wasn’t like her to lose her composure so entirely, but it seemed that these men had found her weak spot - listening to her loved ones in pain while helpless to do anything… listening to  _ Jack _ in pain while she was helpless to do anything. 

 

She sighed again. “Anyway, that’s not what I meant,” she said. “I want to be with you now.” 

 

“And what exactly do you want with me, Miss Fisher?” 

 

Phryne’s mouth dropped open in surprise, before she let out a breathy laugh. A  _ laugh _ . She shook her head - the man was stoic as a statue most of the time, and he chose this moment to ramp up his flirting? He was ridiculous - it was transparently an attempt to make her feel better, and the fact that he was trying so hard to comfort her when he was the one who had been repeatedly beaten for days on end… well, the least she could do was try to return the favour. 

 

“Well of course the first thing would be to check you for injury,” said Phryne. “So a full body assessment would be a logical starting point.”

 

“Indeed, Nurse Fisher, and how would that be administered?” Asked Jack, playing along immediately. 

 

Phryne smirked. “By feel, of course,” she said. 

 

“Of course. And if you find any injuries?”

 

“Well, I do have a certain amount of medical experience,” said Phryne. “And I find that nothing is quite so effective as kissing injuries better.” 

 

Jack huffed a laugh. “I can’t say that I’ve experienced that procedure on previous visits to the doctor.”

 

“It requires specialist training.” 

 

“It’s no doubt highly effective.”

 

Phryne closed her eyes, resting her temple against the wall and listening to every small sound Jack made - his breathing, even but short, as though it was painful; the scraping of fabric against brick as he slumped against the wall; the barely-audible grunts of pain. She bit her lip, shaking her head slightly. 

 

“Oh Jack…”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Please don’t leave me.”

 

“Phryne-”

 

“I’ve been so scared Jack, these past few days, knowing someone had taken you, and then when there was no letter I couldn’t - I couldn’t stop thinking about what that could mean, about what had happened, and if they had… if they  _ had _ , and I’d never got to…” 

 

She heard Jack shift, and swallow back a hiss of pain as he moved. “Never got to what?” He asked gently. 

 

“Never got to be with you,” she said. She huffed. “I know what you’re thinking, and that is what I mean, but it’s not all I mean. I want you so much, but I want it all. I want you in my bed, I want you by my side, I want you when I’m working and when I’m relaxing and when I just need to be myself - you’re so important to me Jack, and all I could think was that I never told you, and never got to have that with you, and I couldn’t bear it. I can’t bear it. I need you.”

 

“Phryne…”

 

Phryne laughed. “Well, that was dramatic,” she said flippantly, sitting up straight and looking away from the wall, as if Jack could see her through it. Colour stained her cheeks, half embarrassment and half something far more intimate, something that felt like hope. 

 

“Worthy of the Bard,” Jack said gently. Phryne shook her head at herself. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, while they were still in such danger. But listening to Jack on the other side of the wall…

 

“Phryne, I - god, this blasted wall!” Jack spat out. “I wish I was in there with you.” 

 

“To conduct your own physical inspection?” Phryne suggested, trying to get the conversation back into more comfortable territory. 

 

Jack sighed. “Right now I just want to hold your hand,” he said simply. 

 

Phryne’s breath caught, and then hitched further as she heard a scrabbling noise coming from the crack in the wall. Instinctively she reached out her hand - the crack was too narrow to fit more than two of her fingers, but the coarse, rough material of the brickwork gave way to the softer feel of Jack’s fingertips against her own, and she choked back a sob. 

 

“I love you Phryne Fisher,” said Jack. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

 

**Day Eight - later**

 

“They’re waking up.”

 

Phryne had been half-dozing, her head against the wall and her fingertips still clinging to the edge of the crack in the wall, but she jerked awake at the sound of Jack’s voice. 

 

“What?”

 

“I can hear them moving,” Jack said softly. 

 

Phryne rolled her shoulders, wincing as they popped. “Alright,” she said. “That means it’s time for the raid. They’re coming at first light.”

 

“Yes, but we don’t know if it’s first light yet,” Jack said. 

 

“We’ll just have to assume it is, or nearly,” said Phryne. 

 

“Phryne.” 

 

Jack sounded serious, and Phryne’s heart sped up. “What?”

 

“They’re usually down here with food for us within a few minutes of waking up,” he said after a moment. 

 

Phryne swallowed. Her throat was very dry, so it did nothing but hurt. 

 

“Jack, I can’t listen to that again.” 

 

“You have to.”

 

“No- I’ll… I’ll come in there. I’ll come now.”

 

“Phryne, no, you can’t,” Jack said. As he spoke, they heard a door open above them. Jack dropped his voice to a whisper. “You can’t risk moving until the cavalry gets here. You need to keep the element of surprise for when you can really use it. If they find out… if they try to use you to hurt me - Phryne, I can’t.”

 

There were footsteps on the stairs now. Phryne screwed her eyes tight. 

 

“Phryne?”

 

She took a deep breath. “Alright.” 

 

Once again she heard the sounds of doors opening and food being delivered. She hadn’t moved from her spot next to the wall all night, so had no idea what they’d brought her the evening before. She doubted it had been anything particularly appetising. 

 

Soon enough her own door opened, and she blinked in the dim but sudden light. The man in the doorway was holding a plate, but when he saw her untouched food he sneered, put the plate he was carrying on the ground, and slowly and deliberately ground the heel of his boot onto whatever was on it. 

 

Phryne barely registered his actions though, because she was too focused on what was in his free hand - a length of lead pipe. 

 

The door was closed and locked again before she could react, and then there came the dreaded sound of Jack’s door scraping open. 

 

“Morning Inspector.” There was a clang - the pipe hitting the wall. 

 

“Mikey,” said Jack, his voice completely even. “And Frankie - back again.”

 

His voice seemed further away, and Phryne realised he’d moved away from the the wall. It sounded like he was still on the floor though. Phryne was glad - going down after a hit would just make his injuries worse. 

 

“I heard you missed me,” Frankie said, his young voice full of aggressive bravado. 

 

“Desperately,” said Jack sardonically. 

 

There was another clang. 

 

“New toy?” Said Jack sardonically. 

 

“Something like that,” said Mikey.  There was the awful sound of air rushing past an object, and then Jack cried out in pain. Phryne buried her head in her knees, gripping her hair tightly in her fingers, desperately torn between trying to block out the sounds and trying to keep track of Jack’s pain. 

 

Another hit, another cry. It was followed by the sound of a kick, and Jack’s heavy groan.

 

Phryne whimpered, curling tighter around herself. 

 

Mikey laughed. “Sounds like you made a friend, Jacky,” he said. “Should we get her in here to watch?” 

 

Phryne’s jaw clenched. Let them drag her in there - then  _ they  _ could watch  _ her  _ go to work. 

 

There was the sound of Jack groaning as he moved. “You’re a very sick man, Mikey Bremner,” he managed to say. 

 

Whatever Mikey planned to say or do in response was halted by a sudden, panicked shout from their third man up the stairs. 

 

“What the-?” Frankie said, over the sound of a distant crash. There was another shout, and a gunshot. “Harry!” Frankie yelled, and the sound of footsteps told Phryne he was running out of the room. 

 

Phryne scrambled to her feet, her hand firmly against the wall to keep her steady, listening intently. There was clearly a fight happening upstairs, and for a moment it sounded like Mikey was going to go up, but he stopped. 

 

“You fucking bastard Robinson,” he growled. 

 

“Looks like my mates are here,” said Jack. 

 

Phryne reached for her gun and hurried for her door.  

 

“It’s too late for you,” Mikey growled. “You’re not getting out of her alive.”

 

Phryne felt in the dark for the lock on her door then, holding her pistol in both hands to steady her shaking hands, took aim as best she could and fired. The wood around the lock exploded into splinters and the door swung open a couple of inches. Phryne yanked it open and ran out of the room into a dimly-lit hall - she paid it no attention, singularly focused on the open door next to her. The Bremners had placed a lantern in the corner, the better to see their target, and the room was full of flickering, monstrous shadows. They quickly resolved themselves into the shape of Jack, scrambling backwards along the floor as a burly man advanced on him, the pipe high above his head. 

 

Phryne didn’t give a warning - she took the shot. The man yelled in surprise and pain and the pipe clattered to the floor, quickly followed by the man himself, clutching his shoulder. 

 

Phryne hurried forward, kicking the pipe away into the corner of the room and placing herself between him and Jack, her gun pointed at his head. Her hands were perfectly steady by now. 

 

Mikey’s face twisted with rage as he took in the sight of her with her gun, standing guard over Jack. “You bitch!”

 

“Don’t move,” she said firmly. “Move one inch and the next bullet will be between your eyes.” 

 

There was a distant yell of “Miss Fisher?!” and Phryne sneered at Mikey as she called back. 

 

“We’re down here, in the basement!” She called back. 

 

There were heavy footsteps on the stairs, shouts for help from the other hostages, but Phryne kept her eyes firmly on Mikey Bremner right up until the moment he was cuffed and hauled to his feet by Hugh and another Constable. Only then did she lower her gun. 

 

“Careful with him, he’s been shot,” Jack said from behind her, as Cec and Bert squeezed into the room as well. 

 

Hugh seemed to notice Jack for the first time and his eyes went wide with shock. “Sir!” He exclaimed, starting to let go of Bremner. “Are you-”

 

“Keep hold of Bremner, Collins,” Jack ordered, his voice firm but laced with pain. “I’m fine.”

 

“When I get my hands on you again Robinson, you won’t be, believe me,” Mikey growled. 

 

“Let’s go,” Hugh said grimly, gripping Mikey’s upper arm in a way that made him cry out in pain as he and the other man hauled him from the room, screaming obscenities. 

 

Phryne closed her eyes for a moment, trembling with adrenaline and relief.

 

“You alright Miss?” Bert asked her. 

 

“Yes, thank you,” she said. “But Jack-”

 

Cec nodded. “We’ll see if we can rustle up something for a stretcher” he said, nodding to Bert to follow him from the room. 

 

“Nonsense, I don’t need a stretcher,” Jack muttered. 

 

Phryne finally turned to face Jack, taking him in properly for the first time. His clothes were filthy and disheveled. His waistcoat hung open over his shirt, his tie was nowhere to be seen. His hair was a matted mess. She lingered on those details, putting off the moment of cataloguing his physical injuries, but the blood on his shirt didn’t allow for much equivocation. 

 

His left eye was swollen shut, and the rest of his face was covered in dark motley bruises. His jaw was swollen. There was dried blood down the side of his face. The cuff of his left sleeve was undone to accommodate the severe swelling around his wrist. Phryne also noticed with a start that one of his fingernails was missing - he hadn’t mentioned that in his list of injuries. She suddenly noticed his tie, wrapped around right shoulder like a bandage - there was blood on his shirt around the tie. 

 

She was so shocked at the sight of him that she didn’t notice he was drooping to the side until he fell unconscious onto his bad arm. 

 

**Day Eight - later still**

 

Five broken ribs in the end, as well as two fingers, his collarbone and, of course, the arm. His nose wasn’t broken; neither was his jaw, though both were badly bruised. His eye would heal alright. There was a knife wound to his shoulder which needed stitching up. A laceration on his lower leg. Multiple blows to the head.

 

He’d been asleep most of the day. The doctors had fretted, because of the head injuries, and kept waking him up, but if there was concussion it was miraculously mild. 

 

Phryne had barely left his side, throwing the full weight of her aunt’s influence around the hospital at every opportunity. His doctors and nurses were staring and gossiping but Phryne didn’t care in the slightest. 

 

It was late evening now and she was sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair beside his bed. He looked pale and thin amid the starched white of his hospital gown, bandages and sheets, but there was a little colour returning to his cheeks. 

 

His uninjured right hand lay on top of the sheet, mere inches from her own, but she held back from taking it. She didn’t think she could bear holding his hand before he was ready to hold hers back. 

 

She must have dozed off - because she startled awake at the sound of Jack groaning as he shifted in bed, and the room seemed darker than before. 

 

“Jack?” 

 

“Phryne?”

 

Phryne surged to her feet, leaning over him as his eyes - well, eye - focused on her, roving over her face. “Are you alright?” He asked her. 

 

She laughed. “Am I alright?” She repeated incredulously. “Of course I am. And so are you, thank goodness.”

 

Jack smiled and then started to struggle to sit up. Phryne scolded him to stay still, but helped him to arrange the pillow so he was slightly raised. She gave him some water from a jug on his bedside table. Once he’d drunk and settled back against the pillows, he looked a little better. 

 

“What time is it?”

 

Phryne shrugged, and sat back down. “I don’t know,” she said. “Late.” 

Jack looked at her with something like awe. “Have you been here all day?” 

 

Phryne looked away sheepishly. “Well, I got cleaned up and changed,” she said. She suddenly felt unspeakably shy, and forced herself to look back at Jack. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t keep away.” 

 

Jack smiled weakly. “You think I’d want you to?” He shook his head again. “Phryne, I always want you nearby. Even when you showed up captured, even though I was angry at you for putting yourself in danger and scared for you, even then a selfish part of me breathed easier at the sound of your voice.” He smiled again. “My very own Thisbe.” 

 

Phryne snorted. “As if I’d mislay a scarf so easily at the sight of a big cat,” she scoffed, deflecting with a joke as always. 

 

Jack didn’t seem to mind - he laughed, then hissed with pain. Phryne bit her lip as she watched him push back the pain before meeting her eyes again. 

 

“Thank you,” he said simply. 

 

Phryne swallowed, and brushed his fingertips with her own. “The wall is gone,” she said. 

 

“So it is,” said Jack. 

 

He moved his hand, and Phryne moved hers to meet him: their palms met briefly before parting to allow their fingers to tangle together, only to meet again. They smiled at one another. 

 

“So, have you executed a full-body assessment yet?” Jack asked, his smile becoming a smirk. 

 

Phryne smirked right back. “Oh, I need a far more intimate setting for such advanced medical practice,” she said. 

 

Jack squeezed her hand with a smile. “But if too much to grant so sweet a bliss,” he said, “indulge at least the pleasure of a kiss.”   
  


He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. Phryne’s breath caught, and she moved to sit on the edge of his bed instead. 

 

“What’s that from?” She asked curiously.    
  


“It’s Ovid,” Jack said, his eyes glinting mischievously. 

 

Phryne rolled her eyes, unable to contain her smile. She leaned down until her lips were hovering just above his own. 

 

“Alright, Pyramus, if you insist.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote and references are from Ovid’s ‘Metamorphoses’ specifically Pyramus and Thisbe, two lovers who talk through a whole in the wall. It’s a good one. :-) 
> 
> It’s gone half one here. I wish inspiration struck at more convenient times. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
